Erik's 2nd Chance
by The Dark Waltz
Summary: What if someone stopped Erik from dying after he let go of Christine? What would happen if this person gave him a second chance to do his story again?
1. Prologue

Down deep in the bowels of the Opera House, the opera ghost lay dying.

His love, his muse and his light was gone.

All want of life had left him.

He lay in his coffin awaiting death to claim him.

Until a voice jolted him awake, and he sat up to find a woman he never expected to see in the fifth cellar.

"Stop pitying yourself, Erik."

Light flooded the room as the older woman set her candle aside and flipped on his electric lights.

They blinded him and he squinted against the pain. Odd, he hadn't expected to feel any more pain.

"It's time for you to get up!"

His dark sockets stared at her. His dimmed yet still glowing eyes were wide in shock.

"You are an idiot."

She crossed her arms, her lace sleeves rustling as she did so.

He winced, "Erik does not know how you have come to his home but you should leave."

She ignored him.

The woman was ignoring him!

Instead of leaving she drew closer and brought a cup of tea to his bedside. A cup of tea that was hot and no doubt prepared in HIS kitchen.

 _No_ , Erik thought he was too tired to be angry.

He was supposed to be dying.

"Leave!You old hag."

The woman did not even bat an eyelash and instead took his arm firmly and sat him up.

This couldn't be the same superstitious woman that had gushed over Christine, telling her not to anger her Angel of Music. This woman did not seem so easily fooled.

His head hurt with the thoughts that compounded his mind. He winced, he wasn't supposed to be thinking. He was supposed to be dead.

"What if I offered you something that you wanted?"

He clambered out of his coffin his thin body no longer holding its feline-like gracefulness. His muscles cried out from misuse, "I doubt there is anything you can offer me. The damage has already been done."

"Christine was not meant for you."

He's teeth grinded together.

"You know nothing!"

"On the contrary, I know everything! And I'm here to offer you a second chance."

He let out a dry laugh that quickly turned into a haggard, gasping cough.

"There is no such thing."

"It is only impossible if you believe it is so. I am offering you this chance but I'm also giving you the opportunity to give Christine a second chance as well." 

As his golden glowing eyes shot up and met her amethyst, his fate was sealed.


	2. The Other Ange

The sky stretched out to either side of the horizon with a blanket of crisp white clouds.

Glittering nearly amethyst eyes fluttered close, "One more hour and then I'll be home."

Light peach fingertips readjusted headphones upon pixie dust waves. A sigh escaped from scarlet lips as the sounds of choruses and orchestras filled her ears; sweeping her off into a world where music reigned supreme.

"Mademoiselle... mademoiselle."

Eyes fluttered open.

"You have arrived at your destination, please disembark."

Embarrassed she hurriedly grabbed her carry-on and shuffled as quickly as she could from the airplane, ducking her head in apology when she passed by the tired eyes of the remaining stewardesses left on the plane. The young woman let out a sigh of relief, as she hefted her carry-on over her shoulder; and proceeded to make her way through the lines to the open area. Her eyes scanned the signs looking for one particular face among all the welcomers.

"Amelie!"

She rushed toward her friend, who received her in open arms.

"How was your trip?"

"Far too long." The young woman hugged the older woman tightly. "I missed you far too much."

The pixie like woman let out a joyful laugh, "Well now you are home dearest Angie."

Amelie smiled at the young woman before her, looping her arm through hers; "How was college?"

Angie exhaled loudly, "Tedious as always."

Amelie guided her ward towards the waiting vehicle outside the doors of the airport. "I'm sure you found ways to entertain yourself, you always do."

Angie smiled a tight lipped smile, "I did the best that I could do in the situation." She shook her head, "Enough with that, how is Mémé?"

"She's been missing you." Amelie's eyes looked straight forward, and quietly helped her friend into the back seat.

Angie wrinkled her brow, "What are you not telling me?"

The fae like woman sighed, tucking a piece of ebony hair behind her ear, "Your Grand-Mére has a lot on her mind lately." She sat down beside the young woman,and leaned forward to speak to the driver, "Take the back way Gerard, it will be far too busy this time in the morning to go through the city."

"Mémé?" The young woman rapped on her grandmother's study door quietly but firmly; knowing her Grand Mere may be busy with the accounts of the estate.

"Is that my Angel?" A voice called out from the room, "Come in my dear girl."

A smile spread across her face as she opened the door in response to her grandma's welcoming admission. She ran toward her grandmother's desk, and kneeled before her chair giving her an embrace. The embrace was short lived when she saw where her grandmother was sitting.

"What happened did you fall again? Why didn't you call me home sooner?"

"It is nothing, my dear. I am merely tired, and the doctor said I should use the wheelchair for simple things to gain my energy back."

Angel's wheat colored eyebrows crinkled in suspicion.

"Mémé..."

"Enough with the fuss child." A secret smile caused laughter wrinkles to appear upon the older woman's face."So, did Amelie and I win the bet?"

Angel sighed.

"Ah,well then we should probably get you ready for the party then."

"Grandmama what do you have up your sleeve?"

She had seen the same glint in her grandmother's eyes the first time she gave her a "present", a room filled to the brim with musical instruments. Her heart had sang as she had been surrounded by the things she loved most in the world, but with the room came the lessons. She grew to love them as she grew older, though.

She saw the glint when her grandmother tried to hide the fact that her parents had abandoned her once more, and that her grandmother had filed for adoption. It had been better that way, her parents no longer could use her when it best suited them.

"Amelie!"

"Yes Madame."

"Call the stylist, she lost the bet."

Adeline smiled, "Yes, ma'am."

"What is going on?"

"You are getting a perm."

"Why ever am I doing that?"

"You are an actress, and we wish you to play a role for one night."

Excitement stirred the pit of her stomach, "And where shall I play this grand role?"

"At the Garnier Opera House, of course."

Her grandmother opened a drawer and took out a small antique box, inside lay a picture of a young woman that she placed into Angel's hands.

"She's beautiful. Who is she?"

"You would know her in our family history as the Countess, but before she was the Countess her name was Christine."

"She was the first?"

"Yes. She is the original." The older woman smiled, "She was the daughter of your great great grandfather's twin brother."

"So she's...?"

"Yes, Christine Daae-Nelson."

"The opera star turned countess."

 _And the woman that inspired a very Gothic tale of romance._

"The Opera is recreating the days of old tonight."

The glint remained in the old woman's eyes as she gazed at her granddaughter.

The day that she had been awaiting for had finally arrived.

The day when everything was about to change.


	3. The Gala

The gown was well preserved but its age still clung to its sleeves and tightened its back.

A rebellious curl fell down from the woman's chignon, as she tried to stretch within the confines of the dress that was meant for a more petite mademoiselle.

She had to give it to her grand-mere,she truly wished to be authentic.

A shiver ran down Ange's spine, "Too authentic..."

She turned away from the image in the mirror that no longer looked like herself and gazed down at the old photograph her grand-mere had given her.

They nearly looked identical now.

The image of the young woman with the sad smile and watery eyes.

She pulled at her rebellious curl.

 _No, not the same eyes;_ hers were irritated.

"Stop looking so put off, Ange. If you didn't want to be part of one of your Grand-mere's schemes you should have never made the bet."

Ange turned toward Amelie, "I thought I was going to win. I really thought this year was going to be different. I was following my dreams..."

"Or so you thought."

The woman in the hundred year old dress let out a frustrated yell, the older woman behind her didn't even blink instead she tucked the stray curl back into the coil at the base of her friend's neck.

"Why must she always be right!"

She let out a sigh.

"I can't shake the feeling that she's been planning this for far longer than than the bet."

"Perhaps."

Ange narrowed her eyes at her friend's reflection in the golden gilt mirror.

"You know something don't you?"

Amelie shifted her eyes away, her smirk slipping slightly.

Before Ange could even ask what was wrong, the dressing room's door burst open and her grandmother burst through.

The wheelchair was gone.

Her granddaughter raised an eyebrow while still trying to catch a glimpse of the hallway.

So far the only part of the opera she had seen was the rooftop from their favorite cafe and then the back entrance. Her grandmother had been insistent on her not entering the main hall until she was in costume. The carriage ride to the Opera had been interesting, it seemed as if the whole city was putting on a show for this night, and her grandmother wished to keep aspect of the evening as authentic to the staged time as possible.

"Can I go now?"

Ange squirmed some more in her seat. The dress wasn't the tightest she had ever fit herself into, she remembered one particular terrifying dress she had to be cut out of closing night when she was an understudy.

"Are you ready?"

Ange tried to make an exaggerated curtsy but bit the inside of her cheek as her dress pinched her as she did so.

"As ready as one ever is when they are assigned an improv part."

"Good."

Her grandmother grinned, a little too widely, before pulling her up onto her feet and shoving her out into the hall.

"The manager has already been briefed on your part. Have fun! And Ange try to not draw too much attention to yourself!"

A shiver ran up Ange's spine as the door the dressing room closed. Her grandmother's last command hanging oddly in the strangely stuffy hallway.

She had a sudden urge to rush back through the door, there was no light seeping from beneath it...as if...she shook her head. It had been an odd day and now at last she had a chance to engage in her first proper gala.

Her steps echoed down the halls.

The hallways seemed eerily quiet but as if they heard her thoughts all at once the sounds of a boisterous party could be heard.

She stopped in her tracks, but the sound of the festivities only gathered more and more sound as if they had been muffled and now they were fully allowed to burst forth with their energies.

She continued on through the halls the sounds of Paris's finest growing louder and louder as she walked through the famous corridors of the Garnier Opera House. Shivers ran up and down her arms, the idea that such a magical place could exist was beyond her wildest imaginings. She had dreamed of this place since she was small. She had memorized every blueprint, photograph and drawing; and now she was now tiptoeing down its halls.

She had never understood her Grandmere's refusal to take her to the Garnier despite her obvious grooming her to have a musical career.

Golden gilt columns rose on either side of her arching high above to reunite with the crystal chandeliers above her head. Thousands of reflections sparkled above and around her as every surface shined and twinkled.

The doors to the auditorium arched above her.

Too soon it felt, Ange looked back at the glittering hallways; a part of her ached to slip off her pinching shoes and run through them. Her heart yearned to explore where no one dared to go.

Ange took in a deep breath, her hands clutched at her dress, and she shook her head.

 _Why was she so nervous?_

She had played many a role before, _how was the one before her anything different?_

Tonight should be fun.

She marched forward and as she pushed through the doors to the main theater, her mouth gaped open at the sights before her.

Laughter filled the air and drifted up into the arched golden gilt ceilings.

The theater opened its crimson and crystal encrusted arms welcoming Ange within its grasp.

The stage seemed to blossom from the corridors, the lighting illuminating dancing couples.

The velvet seats had been moved to the sides and in their place was Paris's finest creme-de-la-creme in all their historic 19th century costumery.

It was absolutely breathtaking.

Ange's lips lifted and her eyes brightened, the eeriness from before at the far reaches of her mind.

She couldn't help but feel that this was all so fortuitous, if she hadn't bet that she would at last find her destined role in America, she would never have had lost and been given the chance of a lifetime.

She fluttered on the edges of the crowd as an onset of butterflies in her invaded her stomach.

"It's just another stage, another role."

Ange tilted her chin high and put her shoulders back.

Tonight she would be Christine Daae _and oh what a night it would be._

And with that last lingering thought she stepped within the fray.


	4. The Stolen Opera

Golden eyes flickered open

Everything was so still.

Everything was so dark.

 _Was this death?_  
A consciousness within endless eternal darkness.  
A laugh threatened to come forth from his chapped lips at the irony.

No death was a never ending sleep with no dreams.  
This could not be death, so then what was it. His fingers reached out to the edge of the coffin as he did when he first had laid down for the long sleep.  
But instead of of the sleek composition sheets of Don Juan Triumphant his fingers only met velvet.  
He rose, no papers fell from his body.  
Hadn't he encased his coffin with his life's work and lain down with the remnants of his opera lying upon him?  
Rage simmered and grew as he rose from his bed, his limbs still laden from exhaustion but as he flicked the electric switch for his lights on the far wall, his artistic mess greeted him.

 _The woman!_  
 _Madame Valerius!_

That older woman had been in his home!  
Erik tried to remember why but his mind was lagging as his bodily fatigue caught up with him.  
Something compelled him to his eatery where he choked down a couple of stale biscuits and lukewarm water.

Something was not right.  
Something was off.

Something told him to be above, as if something was calling him to make his ghostly appearance once more.

Perhaps the woman was above, Madame Valerius was a frequent visitor of the opera after all.

One way or another he would find her and get his opera back.


	5. A Ghost?

The gentlemen of Paris were dressed up to the nines; and Ange was already out of breath after she had accepted countless of their offers to dance.

She felt rejuvenated.

The eeriness of her assignment had faded away with the gaiety and liveliness of the environment surrounding her.

She stepped away from the vigorous dancers, and headed toward the refreshments that sat upon virgin white silk table-clothed booths beneath the opera boxes. She took one of the many flutes of champagne, and as she brought it up to her lips her eyes traveled above to the boxes.

Ange couldn't help her mind drifting off, thinking about which box could be the infamous Box #5.

A tiny niggling pulse of guilt jolted through her mind as she admired the beautiful, intricate, gleaming sculptures that trailed up the sides of the Opera. She had nearly completely forgotten about the role she was supposed to be playing.

As if her mind were punishing her, an eerie whisper filled the air surrounding her and tickled her ears.

 _"Christine..."_

The whisper hung ominously in the air for awhile, sending a shiver down Ange's spine.

For a moment, Ange had to remind herself that the voice came from an actor. A good actor, but an actor nonetheless. Her heart still beat erratically within her chest as if it were threatening to burst free like some frightening creature in a Sci-fi.

The actor playing the Opera Ghost was definitely believable.

He had the deep baritones of a seasoned dramatic baritone and yet the strength and range of a Verdi baritone. His honeyed tones spoke of so much in one single word, within that one word she had heard such pain, longing and the smallest tinge of hope. It left her breathless.

She looked around wondering if anyone was affected as she was, hoping to perhaps also catch a glimpse of the man projecting such a voice, but no one around her had reacted.

A mastered ventriloquist as well it seemed, where in the world had the Garnier found him.

Her legs had jelloed beneath her when the voice first came so she had made her way to row of seating that had been put to the side by the banquet for the Garnier's guests.

As she sank into the velvet seat, the voice came again.

 _"Christine..."_

Her fingers clutched at the cushion below her and her eyes fluttered closed.

She had traveled the world, part of her always searching for the proof that a voice like the one described within the pages of Leroux's novel could actually have existed. And here it was... her eyes flashed open and she searched once more for the owner of the voice. But she saw no one who could have done it.

 _How was that even possible?_

Not even the greatest magicians of all time had been able to do a feat such as this, but no one was turned towards her and not one of the nobles seemed to be in the position to throw their voice toward her position.

Her whole body was wracked with shivering once more, it seemed this event had confirmed it. She at last had gone insane. After all she had been dreaming of the Opera Ghost since she was a little girl locked within her grandmother's library among the many piles of books towering around her to provide a safe haven as her parents fought outside with her Grand-mere.

She shook her head, trying to physically shake herself free from her thoughts.

Instead she let out a laugh to purge the strange tingling of fear from her mind.

She couldn't pin down the reason why she was so suddenly afraid, but she didn't wish to dwell on the terrible stone in her stomach called dread.

Ange smirked as she saw several incredulous faces from surrounding ladies, but she just mentally shrugged. She was used to those kind of looks. She suddenly had a nearly uncontrollable urge to kick up her skirts and do a jig in front of them.

She barely contained herself, still she skipped towards the stage with much more energy than a young lady was supposed to show. She had to contain herself for it seemed the inciting incident had occurred, Christine had been contacted by the Opera Ghost.

Suddenly Ange stopped in her tracks, nearly at the edge of the orchestra pit, her eyebrows furrowed.

 _Something was not right._

It seemed the Phantom actor had made a mistake, for she had it on very good authority that this gala had been the first time Christine Daae had been to the opera house.

"Mademoiselle Daae!"

Ange allowed the smirk to fall from her face, and a gentle but nervous smile to take it's place before she turned toward the person calling her given name.

The gentleman was tall and thin with gentle eyes and worry lines crinkling on their sides.

"Monsieur Debienne, co-manager of the Opera."

The gentleman bowed his head in introduction politely, and Ange curtsied in return.

Ange silently thanked her grandmother for the countless old-fashioned etiquette lessons she had been forced into as a child.

"Monsieur?"

His eyebrows furrowed slightly, "I was the one that found your talent."

 _Of course, how silly of her. He was co-manager along with M. Poligny._

The man sighed in resignation, while one hand combed back his graying hair.

"I suppose your guardian went with her plan then. Madame Valerius was always an eccentric woman."

"Monsieur, I'm afraid I'm utterly confused to what you are referring to."

 _What was going on?_

"You are not the Christine I first found. You are her cousin, correct? Such a striking resemblance. Both your fathers must have had a strange attachment to the name Christine as well."

Ange was confused.

 _What game was her grandmother playing?_

Unless this was merely a game, like many of her grandmother's odd tests. If so it would be best to go along with it, lest she got a penalty for not doing so later on. Her grandmother always thought of ingenious ways to torture her without any harm coming upon her.

"Yes, that is correct. I'm afraid I was confused at first for this is my first time to the Garnier, and it is quite stunning."

He nodded his head and smiled, "I have been here for many years and still I'm struck with wonder every-time I cross the Garnier's threshold."

M. Debienne's expression suddenly changed, "I understand from her your guardian that you were in fact classically trained?"

Ange nodded.

"I know this is short notice, but because I have not personally heard your voice only your cousin's, would you give us an audition?"

Ange stifled the gasp that threatened to escape her, as the excitement of the possibility brought a rush through her and her heart began to beat rapidly.

Whatever game her grandmother might be playing she suddenly did not care. She would never pass up on such an opportunity.

"As you said Monsieur, I believe it would be only fair."

His shoulders relaxed and a joyous grin appeared upon his face.

"Then, it is decided."


	6. The Undead Sceneshifter

Christine had come back.

She flitted around the opera without a care as if the last two years had never occurred.

Erik's blood had not ceased boiling since he had seen her with her on not one or two gentleman's arms, but countless.

She was wearing the dress, the sky blue silk dress that had matched her sad eyes. She had worn it the first time he ever laid eyes on her,the first day she had ever been in the Opera House. There had been a gala much like the one going on in the theater, but she had slipped away from the crowds and had played a sad song upon one of the music room's grand pianos. He had hovered nearby drawn to her fragile beauty, and his heart had soared as her voice gently started to meld with the lullaby at the tips of her fingers.

Tears fell from glassy eyes and she had stopped to weep, crying out to her dead father her voice wavering. She had cried out to out to him, telling him that she wasn't sure she could survive without him.

Erik remembered the bitterness that had set upon him then, for he never had loved someone so deeply or had been loved in return in the same way. The young woman had then tried singing once more, fighting through her tears; and his heart, the heart he had forgotten could even beat, had gone out to her.

Erik shook himself from his thoughts as he viewed the young woman down below that was so vastly different from when she had first arrived.

 _Where was that silly fop when he could actually be useful?_

"Erik could kill them now. Bring the chandelier down upon their foppish skulls once more."

Erik paced the flies, trying to contain his rage.

"No, no if I kill again I will make her run away again."

He shook the blood-lust from his mind and slipped into the shadows but not before hearing a voice from the Underworld.

He inclined his head but kept in the shadows, as a drunken screenshifter waddled past.

The shifter shook his head, white as a sheet, "Only a ghost, Buquet. That's all that it was, a ghost."

Erik stared in disbelief down the gangplank, _how was that man still alive?_ He still remembered the day he had to heave Buquet's stinking corpse through the cellars, after finding him in his torture chamber. He remembered the anger that had swept through him as it delayed his plans partially that night for Christine's debut.

 _Buquet couldn't be alive._

 _What was going on?_

As if in answer to his questions, Monsieur Debienne's voice rose to his ears.

"Excuse me ladies and gentlemen, tonight we offer you a special treat."

The painted peacocks of the upper-class gazed at the manager in curiosity, their eyes flickering towards the young woman that stood next to the co-manager.

"Tonight you will get to see an audition of a very new talent that I will also take part in deciding the mademoiselle's fate. You will be able to put in your vote on whether she stays or goes."

The phantoms eyes were drawn to the back of the head of his love, his eyes narrowed.

The manager turned briefly to the orchestra and then back to Christine in shock.

The Phantom squinted to make out the managers whispered words, thankful to his year of training to read lips.

"Are you sure, that is quite a bold choice?"

Christine tilted her head high, her voice carrying out to the audience, "You wish to have confirmation that I was trained classically and this song portrays every aspect. Dance, acting and voice."

The manager still seemed shocked but turned back to the audience,  
"Without further ado I present to you for the first time on the Garnier Opera stage, Mademoiselle Christine Daae!"

The phantoms thin eyebrows shot up and over his full mask.


	7. A Different Carmen

Ange took in a deep breath as the strings played the first notes of the famous gypsy Carmen's song.

She closed her eyes and imagined the scene. The streets of Seville are laid out before her, and as she opens her eyes she can feel the ache in her bones from working the long day in a humid factory.

Opening her eyes she breaths out a sigh of relief she's free, free to roam the streets of the city.

She adjusts the sleeves her gown, they always feel as though they are stifling her. Too tight to moved and yet necessary for the work in the factories.

Boisterous laughter fills the square and men filter through the streets. The men who could buy her drinks all night and dance with her until her feet bleed.

Head tilted high she opens her mouth to sing a siren's song of love. And she danced oh how she danced, enticing the gentleman.

Ange turned on her toes and gazed suddenly out into the audience, her eyes piercing every soul as if she saw her own Jose deep within them and a sultry smile appeared upon her lips as she rustled her skirts and danced to the edge of the stage holding her hand out as if she were beckoning prey into her trap.

The Carmen up on the stage caused shivers to go down the audience's spines.

They had seen passionate Carmens, mischievous and vain Carmens, but the one before them was something they had yet to see before.

She held herself tall and proud and yet the way she danced and sang held a desperate sort of passion.

When she found her Jose; men and women felt themselves pulled forward as if by some magnetic force. As her voice grew stronger, her dance more confident and her eyes more determined they leaned further caught up in the part she made them play.

As the last note of her song held clinging to the air like the lover she portrayed, their breaths had left them; for they felt her heart ache as she sang the last passionate note.

And as the notes faded away and she was poised in position her hands above her head and her head to the side...Still they did not breathe, they did not breathe until the actress returned and the young lady took her respective nod towards the audience before turning towards the managers who were left slack-jawed.

Silence reigned until it broke as a thunderous chatter swept through all the opera guests.


	8. Not The Christine He Was Looking For

His heart slammed in his chest. It ached and ceased. His breath was caught in his throat.

 _How could this be?_

His yellow eyes bared down on the figure who waited patiently for the manager's verdict.

 _How could this be?_

 _She was not Christine._

The Phantoms hands tightened around the flies ropes and staggered against the wall.

It hadn't been his Christine's voice.

The woman who still stood below him had a voice different than the true Christine's but it wasn't the tone but the emotion, the pain behind every syllable that made him realize it was not her.

His gloved fingers clenched as the reality behind the realization came to light. The words sung, that had not existed within Christine before or after the Angel of Music had come into her life.

He hissed through his teeth.

He had been tricked!

 _That witch had lied!_

 _She said she'd give us another chance!_

Erik's mind went back trying to remember what that old woman had said.

 _"Christine was not meant for you..."_

Erik's eyes bore down on the young woman who had left the stage, fleeing from the masses back into the main corridors of the theater.

 _If that woman down below was not Christine, then who the hell was she?_

His hands felt along the wall until he found the indention that no eye could see, pressing it inwards he slipped into the passageway.

The Phantom strode through the pitch blackness one thing on his mind.

He would find out what was going on, even if he had strangle everyone in the whole of Paris.


	9. Dark Shadows

Ange could feel the eyes staring at the back of her skull before the fearsome whispers began.

 _"Christine is it?"_

 _"A foolish child who's lost her way."_

 _"Poor child she should have stayed out in the light where it was safe from the monsters in the dark that bite."_

Ange stopped walking abruptly after the last chilling statement hung in the air like a stagnant smell.

"Angel or ghost, I am nobody of consequence take no heed."

For a while silence reigned and no reply came.

Ange continued on her exploration of the corners of the opera house believing she had silenced the ghost until it sneered once more, _"You are no scared rabbit."_

"No just obviously a foolish one for bating a foolish man." She muttered, she was getting fed up with his taunts. He had not left her alone since she left the main masses and she was tired of playing his game. She stayed silent even as more fearsome whispers came, but they faded the longer she ignored them peeking between scene shifts.

As she went down one particular hallway a shiver ran down her spine and the hairs at the back of her neck rose.

She stiffened and stopped in her tracks.

The opera house had grown eerily silent. She could no longer hear the sounds of the gala. She trailed her fingers across plaster walls and her fingers became coated with dust. She brushed her hands off and gazed at the dust on the chair railings on the walls, her eyes trailed up to view the faint traces of cobwebs she found herself in several unused corridors.

She was alone, too alone.

Suddenly at the base of her neck she felt as if someone were there leaning over her. She could almost feel an exhalation of air upon the peach fuzz at the back of her neck.

She turned, but no one was there.

So she traced her steps backwards, despite what the ghosts of the opera may think she was no foolish child.

She was curious about the dark corners of the opera house but the eeriness of the day had set in.

Ange picked up her pace down the halls determined to get back to the world of the living.

"No more with the dead..."

Once more she stopped and turned around only this time it wasn't because of whispers in her ears but because the halls around her no longer looked familiar. With a frustrated yell Ange realized the ghost's voice had driven her to distraction and now she was utterly lost.

"Ange you will be alight. You are in the best place in the world. You are where music comes alive."

A smile alighted her lips.

Her eyes closed as she breathed deep breaths in and out. Flashes of the memories from earlier went through her mind as she collected herself. For a moment on that stage of dreams she had felt utterly and completely free.

She shook her head and dispelled her thoughts. Feeling safe only brought heartbreak, no where was safe. And the fantasy of the day would fade away in the morning. And she would be faced by reality...and reality was harsh.

As she trailed the halls gradually she discovered that the dark unused hallways had faded from earthen tones to polished golden tones.

She let out a sigh of relief and she smiled as the sound echoed around her. She had found her way to the main used halls.

The cacophony of drunk Parisians and moments of gaiety flooded the halls once more.

She paused in front of the floor to ceiling windows in the hall of mirrors fashioned after the grand Versailles. Her hand met the soft velveteen crimson curtains and slipped through to the cool glass on the other side. Stepping closer and through she let the curtains envelop her as she stepped within their cocoon facing the city of lights. The pixie lights of the city stretched out in front of her. She leaned against the glass and let out a sigh she had been holding in.

The night would soon slip away and when it did the blinding reality of day would come over her. Soon enough this place would just be the Opera House again, it wouldn't be the place she had felt it to be as she sang anymore. _It couldn't, it would be too painful._

Ange rested her forehead against the glass and let out more air from between her lips causing the clear glass to fog up centimeters from her lips.

 _What had been the point of her Grandmother's exercise? What had been the point of her playing the part of an ancient relative?_

"Mademoiselle Daae!"

Ange let out another sigh before straightening herself and stepped out from behind the heavy curtains. Her hair stood on end and she patted it down hoping it would placate and remain in place.

"Mademoiselle Daae?"

She turned her head in time to see the manager... _what was his name again...ah yes...Debienne._

"Where have you have been off to?"

"I was exploring the Opera, after all it seems I will not be here long."

"What would make you think that, Mademoiselle? The votes were in your favor! You quite surprised me, your audition piece was a bold choice!"

Ange blinked a couple of times.

"Mademoiselle Daae, welcome to the Paris Garnier Opera! I look forward to your future performances!" He held his hand out to her and his eyes widened slightly as she shook it. He cleared his throat, "We will discuss your monthly salary in the morning. You will be staying in the dormitories until further accommodations are made."

Monsieur Debienne turned away content that his message was delivered and he could rejoin in the frivolity of the gala. There were several pretty faces he wished to still seek out.

"Wait!"

She sped after the manager as he began to walk back to the auditorium.

"You mean I have a place here." She gestured around her in emphasis.

"If you wish it, I believe you will make a fine addition to the company."

Ange watched stunned as the man walked away once more.

 _What was going on?_

She leaned against a pillar as exhaustion hit.

"I will think about it tomorrow. After all tomorrow is another day."

She smirked tiredly and made her way back down the hallways in search for a place to sleep in the dormitories.


	10. The Last Hope

"Mistress?"

A pixie figure knocked upon a solid suite door, until the sound of a body falling to the ground moved her forward and into the dark room. With the window's curtains drawn the room was pitch black.  
The pixie lady squinted into the dark, the light from the hallway falling upon the fallen body of her lady. "Mistress!"

The lithe lady ran to the older woman on the ground.

The elder woman let out a forlorn sigh as the younger woman helped her sit up.

"Is Christine doing well in the home we found for her?"

"Yes Mistress. She is still confused and dazed but I believe she will adjust just fine with time."

"Good that's good."

The old woman tilted her head onto the edge of her bed as she still sat on the floor.  
"And Ange?"

"She completed the trade in one piece."

"Good."

A tear fell down the old woman's face.

"Mistress?"

"This is their last chance."

"Yes."

"Amelie?"

"Yes."

"Will someone be there for her when I'm gone?"

The silence that followed was the only answer and the old woman let out another bitter sob before she closed her eyes in exhaustion.


	11. An Interesting Beginning

Morning filtered through a high window in the dormitories causing rivulets of dust to sparkle in the early sunbeams.

Early morning yawns filled the air as the ballet rats awoke from their squeaking beds. Giggles occasionally flared up as a snore reverberated in the high ceilings of the room.

"Who is she?"

"Didn't you hear? She is a new member of the cast."

"I heard she was to be Carlotta's understudy!"

Another snore that turned into a snort cause the rats to chatter again.

"Who's going to wake her?"

One of the rats parted from the others curious about the loud sleeper in the corner. She was already dressed her pinafore and her shoes were laced tightly to her feet. Her curiosity was greater than her nerves, for even as she jumped as another thundering snore filled the air she still made her way closer. Her tiny feet barely whispering over the tiled floors.

"Mademoiselle?"

She squeaked her little lips quivered but she bent forward carefully laying a thin pale hand upon the slumbering loud maiden.

No sooner had she laid her hand upon the woman's arm was she flung from her and fell to the ground in a heap.

Tears trailed down the young dancer's face and her sniffling made piercing amethyst eyes seek out the culprit.

They softened as they saw the girl on the cold floor.

The woman coughed into her hand, but still the younger one did not look up through her long dark strings of hair.

The woman stretched and winced realizing she was still in the previous night's underclothes which included the torture device that women wore in the age of the play.

"It is not wise to try to awaken a stranger from their sleep."

A sniffle was all she received in reply from the girl on the ground, but giggling from across the room drew her attention and narrowed her eyes at them and pursed her lips.

She sighed. She was in no mood to deal with a crying child.

Mornings were not her time of the day.

"No more tears. No harm was done."

A mop of loose hair shook and bobbed as more blubbering sobs came from beneath closed arms.

Ange sighed once more this time in resignation and bent down on bended knee before the young girl.

"What is your name, little ra..." Another cough to cover up a poor nickname.

"M...Meg."

"I'm sorry I frightened you little Meg."

Eyes peered up through dark lashes above a set of ivory folded arms.

"I wasn't that scared."

"I see." Ange's lips split into a wolfish grin.

"Just startled."

"Hmm..." Ange offered her hand. "Well then if you have found your legs once more shall I help you back up?"

A nod and a quick intake of breath and the young girl placed her hand in the elder's and was pulled up swiftly.

She watched the other woman with unveiled curiosity. It seemed the woman was pulling her dress that had hung over the side of a wooden chair beside her bed.

"You are not going to wear that to rehearsals."

"Of course I am." Ange fixed the girl with a solid gaze. "I have nothing else that I can wear."

"No trunks?"

"I didn't really plan that far ahead."

The dark haired mademoiselle cocked her head to the side and puckered her minuscule little lips.

"That won't do at all!"

Little Meg strode towards the taller girl and grab a hold of her arm.

"You must see Sorelli. She will have something."

Ange tried to shrug away the younger girl's hand but her tiny fingers were stronger than they appeared and the girl's grip did not lessen.

"Let me go."

But Meg's eyes held a determined glint beneath their mask of fear.

"Let me go and I will go with you."

La Sorelli's rooms were larger than Ange would have expected. She wondered if they were historically correct. Everything else thus far had seemed to be a historian's dream down to the last detail, but even for a Prima Ballerina it seemed strange to have such a large suite. The grand ballerina kept it expensive and yet modest at the same time. The one tall window to the left stood tall flanked by burgundy velveteen curtains that didn't seem to have a spot on them. There was sitting room area with settee and opposing chairs that matched the curtains and a rick gold and crimson rug beneath them. A black oriental screen hid the bed and changing area in a alcove framed with crown molding and a small crystal chandelier with in it.

La Sorelli was the personification of a swan. Her long neck tilted to the side as she adjusted her hair in her mirror. Her arms were graceful and long. Ange could imagine pure white feathers sprouting them causing her to lift up in the air. Every movement she made was as if she were floating. She did not acknowledge their presence until she had assembled each strand of her silken tresses into their perfect coiffure at the base of her skull.

"Little Meg what have you brought for me this time?"

"Christine..."

Ange winced. Her given name seemed so stiff and yet her middle name few ever took very well. Perhaps it was best to keep her formal name as the way they address her. It would make things easier. She would not drop her role so easily that way.

Meg continued on after a slight nervous glance towards Ange's way.

"Christine's trunks have yet to arrive."

La Sorelli tilted her head and pivoted slightly more towards them.

"And you wish her to borrow something of mine that is more suitable for rehearsals?"

"Oui, Mademoiselle Sorelli."

"So be it." She turned her crane like neck and stared at Ange. "I should have something that will fit you." A nod towards Meg, "You should run a long. I can afford to be a few minutes late but you do not have that luxury Little Meg."

Ange didn't even glance toward the girl as she ran off.

"Your Carmen was very..." The long legged ivory swan strode toward her bureau and lifted a pinafore from deep within its recesses. "Excuse me, it was very different to what here at the Opera often see."

She peered over at Ange with a piercing gaze her mouth in a thin line. She tossed the dress over to Ange.

Her teeth ground slightly. "I do not wish to inconvenience you."

"No inconvenience. A spare gown is of no consequence."

The ballerina waved her hand in a dismissive gesture.

"Thank you for the clothes. I will make sure they are washed before I return them."

"Keep them."

Sorelli looked upon her distastefully and Ange pursed her lips to stop a curse from emitting from her mouth in return.

Ange made a curt nod her way and walked out of the room.

This game was very similar to real life. There was always a diva that was wolf always making sure no one else tried to take their spotlight or their leadership as alpha. She never cared for such games, but always seemed to find herself right in the middle of them.

She shrugged her shoulders and headed to the dormitories letting several raspberries vibrate her lips and her vocal exercises began. She was already running late and so she had no choice but to begin them now. A few maids passed by her looking at her strangely and as she neared the rooms a stage hand passed her by only to let out a bemused chuckle.

 _"_ _You are a strange fool."_

Ange sucked in a breath as the disembodied voice whispered its taunt into her ear. She had forgotten its power, but she had no time to play with a ghost.

She took a deep breath and began her scales again as she opened the door to the dormitories only to nearly be barreled over several ballet rats that were late as well.

"Be gone ghost, I am late."

Without caring if a ghost's eyes were still upon her she threw off her dress as soon as the door closed behind her and yanked at the corset strings behind her until it came off. The pinafore in her hands had built in lacing. Ange let out a grateful sigh as she freed herself and hurriedly stepped into the rehearsal garment.

The day had barely began and already it had proven to be quite interesting.


	12. Her Fate Was Sealed

It was all wrong.

Or he was in hell.

A hell where Christine wasn't Christine and yet she had the same face.

No, not hell. Erik had never believed in such baseless lies. He had spent too many years inspiring fear to know the difference between facts and lies meant to manipulate and control.

If not hell how was any of this possible?

His analytical mind came up with impossible idea after another, but despite his studies in sciences of the earth nothing could ever provide a solid reason or 'how' to what had happened.

Erik had followed the fake Christine for days and no answer was provided to him.

She was odd creature. Uncouth, sarcastic, sly and clever. The phantom shook his head and shifted in the darkness behind one of the stage's scenes.

If things were like before then the managers would be making their rounds and would pass by his hiding spot within seconds.

The phantom counted down and smirked as the managers turned onto the stage right on cue. All he had to do was wait for them to pass by him before slipping a newly made letter into M. Poligny's pocket. They made things far too easy for him.

"Mademoiselle Daae!"

Golden eyes peered as a woman came around the corner out of breath. If she wasn't careful she would barrel right into the managers. A wicked grin spread across thin lips.

 _"Be careful little rat you might trip and break your neck."_

Her step faltered and she ungracefully halted before the managers her head turning toward the sound of this voice.

Her eyes narrowed and glinted icily.

"Shut up." She seethed underneath her breath.

"Excuse me, mademoiselle." M. Poligny hands fretted with his gloves and his mustache twitched in shock.

"Not you! The..."

Her mouth shut abruptly and she pursed her lips.

The opera ghost let his chuckle waft its way around her mocking her, only her.

"I'm sorry, monsieurs; I did not mean any disrespect. I'm afraid I'm just a bit disoriented from fatigue. Rehearsals have kept me quite busy."

She stretched her lips in a well executed false smile and put her hand to her forehead as if to wipe sweat from her brow.

"Perhaps you should get some rest then." Monsieur Debienne nodded her way his brows furrowed beneath his top hat.

Monsieur Poligny stepped forward, "Take care. You have only just arrived at the opera house. It would be quite unfortunate if you injured yourself before even your first opera."

 _"We wouldn't want that would we?"_ A ghost's whisper caressed the air around the young woman making her stiffen once more.

The ghost grinned, _"Although..."_

The woman stood straighter before curtsying before the managers like a courtesan skillfully deceiving them with false charm.

"I apologize once more my managers. I was startled. Excuse me."

Her smile did not slip until she passed them.

As soon as the manager's had walked passed the false Christine and rounded the corner the woman let loose a curse.

"Damn opera ghost."

With those three words she sealed her fate.

 _ **If Erik could not have his Christine, he would make the one in her place regret ever showing up in his life.**_


	13. His Fate Was Sealed

He was driving her up the wall. The ghost would not leave her alone.

Rehearsals were the only time she was left with some reprieve. It seemed that they were sacred place that was not to be tarnished with his torturous endeavors. She was grateful for the respite for she was growing tired of his threats, lewd comments and all around b.s.

Ange stood at the edge of the stage and wiped her brow with a towel. Rehearsals were vigorous and draining but she couldn't help feel invigorated. Monsieur Reyer was strict and concise which made for orderly blocking and strict timing. She preferred order to the "creative chaos" many of her peers back at college had preferred.

" _You are looking quite heated today Mademoiselle."_

Ange didn't stop a growl to escape her throat but she inwardly cursed as it only seemed to encourage him. A wicked laughter pursued her as she collected her few essentials from Stage Right.

She had wanted to stay a bit longer perhaps enjoy the quiet of the empty theater, but his achingly beautiful and yet sinister voice ruined everything.

Still she tilted her head back and closed her eyes, she took deep breaths in and out and opened her eyes once more. The back of the stage opened wide in front of her parts of scenes poking out from its long sides, a spare tree or gable here or there. Every part essential to create a world for the audience. Her lips tilted upwards at the corners, theater was her happy place. Not the people in it, but the atmosphere and its mechanics, all the separate pieces coming together to create something outstanding. Each component had a story to tell, each prop had a purpose and Ange reveled in such unity.

She turned back towards the velvet seats and walked out to the edge with a sigh she sat with her legs dangling over the orchestra pit.

She didn't allow her mind to second guess herself and so she leaned back and put her arms behind her head and stared up at the stage's ceiling and out further its border of dark crimson curtains and then further the gold filigree. The golden gilt statues reaching up towards the sky and the ginormous chandelier that hung twinkling in the light, thousands of crystals laughing at her prone form on the stage.

Perhaps it was the silence that had warned her first. Or perhaps she had actually her the ropes as the chafed against each other and the squeal of the gears. Whichever it might have been Ange looked up just at the right moment to see the sandbag swing toward her head and barely rolled out of the way before it slammed against the stage.

"Shi..."

" _What a filthy mouth you have mademoiselle."_ The irritating ghostly chuckle morphed into a mad laugh.

"Shut up!" She let out a yell. "What the hell is wrong with you?"

Silence met her and she clenched her fists and gazed up above her watchful for another lethal thing to fall from the flies above her. With his silence her own silent choice was made.

For a while Ange had begun to wonder about this ghost. And this job she had found herself in, for although she would not trade it for any other there were things that had begun to not add up. She had been too busy with rehearsals to leave the Opera but when ever she viewed the world outside the high windows it was carrying on as if they had always lived in the 19th century, frozen in time.

Ange shook her head and straightened her spine as she fully stood up brushing herself off after her roll on the stage.

It didn't matter, not really, what exactly was going on; because all that matter at that moment was that this ghost had gone too far and she was going to make sure he knew it.

She marched away from the stage her eyes lit within by a determined fire to find the ghost who had driven her mad.


	14. The Mistakes He Made

_She was coming for him._

The false Christine had left the stage after the incident and strode with confident steps to the other side of the opera. The place where the opera's scenes were faded and where old props from operas long forgotten resided, where they gathered dust since the opera's opening.

The Phantom watched in curiosity for he knew there was no way she could find him and yet she was ever so entertaining.

She strode through the opera house with a look of severe determination and so he followed her. He was surprised when she stopped in front of the Prima Donna's room.

 _Could she know?_

How ridiculous, and yet everything that had happened the last week had proven to him that the impossible had happened before.

As soon as she knocked on the door he slipped further into the tunnels behind the room. If she did know the secret of the room he had to be prepared.

No sooner had he set up the traps and found a place to hide did the glitter of the mirrors turning inside out and spinning come. She was deposited on the other side and his eyes watched in the darkness as she held a candle above her head.

"I know you are there."

Her voice came out strongly no fear laced within the words.

 _Well, we will have to change that, won't we?_

"Turn back now, mademoiselle, before it's too late."

Her eyes reflected the flame held in her hand. Her jaw was clenched and her eyes squinted into the darkness trying to find the Phantom hiding in the shadows.

"I am tired of your threats ghost!"

"Pity you should have heeded them."

His long fingers itched and gave in to the pleasure of wrapping themselves around the wire of catgut.

No, he wouldn't be able to kill her. Not with her face being so close to his beloved. But that didn't mean he couldn't scare her.

He tossed the wire and he smirked as it caught a hold of her just below the raised arm and pulled.

She let out a screech as she slid forward and the trap activated causing a dart to fly and narrowly miss her shoulder. She dropped the light and it sputtered out leaving her in complete darkness only with a ghost for company.

He strode toward her, pulling the catgut tighter and she let out another whine as she tried to struggle out of it.

"The further you struggle the tighter it will become. How sad it would be for it to slice that pretty little neck of yours."

Her eyes widened and the Phantom grinned in pleasure to see fear, at last, shining in her eyes.

"Now you have two decisions before you, you can promise never to seek me out again and be freed. Or I can leave you here to starve in the tunnels."

"You are a butt-head."

His thin eyebrows rose.

 _What strange insults and phrases this woman seemed to spout._

"Leave you here then? My pleasure makes it far easier for me. In addition, I can just imagine Carlotta's face when the smell of your rotting corpse reaches her delicate sensibilities."

A low growl came from the woman as if she were some wild creature.

He made the sound of his feet receding but stopped when her voice rose once more for the first time nearly meek.

"Wait!"

She shifted and winced as the thin rope cut this time her bared arms.

"I promise."

She whispered the words, they barely escaped from her clenched lips.

"What was that, mademoiselle?"

"I promise!"

"Ah much better; a lady really shouldn't mumble."

He made the effort of making the sound of the returning footsteps before bending to untie the catgut from her limbs. His gloved fingertips ghosted over the wounds from the wire, warring feelings of regret and triumph rose within him. He shook his head, it was her fault she should have listened. Still, he couldn't help the bile that threatened to rise in his throat as he wiped off some blood that had escaped from her wound.

 _He should have been more careful._

As he bent further down to her level she swayed on her feet. He steadied her, his hands upon her shoulders, that was his first mistake.

Pain. The blinding pain was the next thing he felt as he fell back against the opposing wall.

White dots appeared in his vision and his hand went to his head. Fingers flinched as they touched a sore spot.

Still recovering he could barely hear the woman sputter, "Don't ever touch me again."

He hadn't fully stood up before she was upon him. Her hand reaching out to touch his shoulders and tracing down until they grabbed a fist full of his cravat in them.

"You are insane. You are bloody insane!" She shook him and he let her for he was still shaking free the white spots that clouded his mind after her head slammed into his. "You have taken this too far! I don't know where the Opera House found you but they have a lawsuit on their hands."

 _What was she talking about?_

He shook his head once more and grabbed onto her wrists holding her away from himself.

"It seems you are the one whose mind is rattled."

"Oh no, you don't you jerk. You just nearly killed me!"

"You wouldn't heed my warnings."

He tightened his fingers around her wrists.

"You are hurting me. Let me go."

"No."

She ground her teeth and stare out at him piercing his golden pair of eyes.

"Let. Me. Go. Now."

The Phantom had enough of her insolence and tightened his grip before baring his weight against the wall before her stringing her wrists along with him. That was his second mistake.

Pain. He doubled over and released her hands.

The Phantom fell to the side with a groan.

Before the world went dark his words echoed back at him except this time from the woman's lips.

"You wouldn't heed my warnings."


End file.
